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Day 5 of #inktober2017 - Long. I didn't think I had the time to do this but can't seem to stop any way. Who needs sleep.

The Tree of Unspeakable Goodness - Moleskine sketch/painting

Gnarly Tree

Grandma's prompt: Speedy Alka Seltzer

"I have learned that what I have not drawn, I have never really seen." - Frederick Franck.

Perched between silence and song, the blue jay waits—half mischief, half mystery.

Imagine trading your soft bed for a deflating mattress. Imagine food cooked under ash, a fire that smokes more than it warms. Imagine waking at dawn with stiff muscles, yet finding yourself strangely alive. This sketch is not just about tents, cars, and campfires. It is about the in-between—where inconvenience and beauty wrestle, and something deeper sneaks in. Camping reminds me: comfort is overrated, but presence is priceless.

Cuttlefish and moon stickers…

To draw is to notice. To notice is to pause. And sometimes, all it takes is a barefoot boy in a camping chair, chasing the drips of a popsicle, to remind us what it means to be here. This is Popsiclence—a sacred kind of focus. It’s where observational drawing leads us: out of the swirl, into the now. And in that now, we heal.

Years ago, I sketched Gibby at work—pencil in hand, bold strokes alive with motion. I caught them from over the shoulder: just the back of their head, the soft curve of their face, and that focused arm bringing something into being. They were 9 or 10 then, already showing the spark of creativity and concentration that pointed toward who they’d become. Now in their mid-20s, Gibby is thoughtful, insightful—quick to listen, slow to speak, and wired to process the world with care. Their path has been remarkable: two degrees in 2.5 years, no debt. That didn’t happen by accident. It took grit, German immersion schooling, 16 college credits earned in high school, and testing out of 24 more once at university. That’s Gibby—quietly determined, resourceful, and steady. But their story isn’t just academic. Gibby’s always been gifted with their hands—drawn to set design, locksmithing, welding. Trades they wanted to pursue early on, and still feel pulled toward. They’re at a bike shop now. It’s not the dream, but it fits: their hands know how to build, repair, and reshape the world. There’s been frustration—maybe even anger—that we didn’t let them follow the trade route right away. I get that now. Life veers, and sometimes the path chosen isn't the one imagined. But Gibby’s resilience—their ability to adapt and press on—is what I admire most. They’ve embraced their journey with honesty, stepping into their identity as a they/them person, unafraid to define success in their own terms. That takes courage. I’m proud of them—not for a résumé, but for who they are. This old drawing isn’t just a memory—it’s a thread connecting past to present. A reminder that the creative spark, the steady hands, the deep soul I saw back then is still shining. So here’s to you, Gibby: the kid who sketched with fire and the adult who still shapes the world with quiet brilliance. Your value has never been about the path you’re on. It’s about the person you are. And I’ll be here, cheering you on—every step of the way.

Lindsey and I recently went on a date night while on vacation in Florida. Fantasy and reality are two very different things. I also figured this was a great way to introduce DAT (Die Alone Together) Comics. I will hopefully upload a new strip every week. I hope you enjoy it!

Lino cut print over pastel. The story goes: The bird fell in love with the whale the first time she saw him break through the ocean’s surface, sunlight dancing on his back. From high above, she sang to him, and deep below, he answered with a song as old as the tides. She longed to dive, to join him in the rolling blue. He wished to rise, to fly beside her in the endless sky. But air and water would not trade places. So each day, at dawn and dusk, they met at the edge of their worlds—she on the wind, he in the waves—singing a love song carried by the breeze and the tide, never together but never apart.

January’s been… well January to say the least but we made it!

Making sense of a recent donation in a charity shop I volunteer at…

Another one of these tiny canvas doodles. I stenciled out the eyes and teeth and used acrylic makers to color. Then finished up with a brush pen. These are a fun challenge

These two are stills from animations that I made. Check out my IG if you want to see them come to life (link in profile).

Reflecting on the first week of this new year we’ve entered…

Lindsey's prompt: Pine tree

A mellow peach that’s much needed after the last few days!

Getting inspired by Blixa Bargeld from Einsturzende Neubaten and Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, as you do!

This little pine cone was missing one side and looks like it’s been eaten, revealing a repeating pattern in the centre of the cone.

I call this work Lost Koi because I painted it in the 1990s. Gave the original to a friend who was terminally ill and thought I would never see it again. Then I found it on a old computer. I had to work a lot with the image. I hope it loads.

We will take for granted that this is Hallow's eve, which is forever connected with black cats, afull moon, dead tress and pumpkins

It wasn’t intentional but now I can’t unsee two birds.

Continuing to make works that create feelings of movement using line.

Coffee lover

Color Pencil over Gesture. It was a contemplative day in the art classroom. Students were drawing self portraits and I had time to join them. Our discussion was on 'Reflection'. The image we see of ourselves in the mirror is not what people see when they look at us. They see the reverse. The mole on my cheek is on the other side of my face, if you were to look at me in person. This leads to discussions of perception and reality. It can be fun and humbling. We cannot live only by sight. We must have a faith of some sort. This reminds me of the Michael Feldman Public Radio Program called: "Whad'Ya Know?" It opens with the audience shouting: "Whad'd Ya Know?" and Michael replying: "Not Much! You?". We do not know much, I think, as much as we like to pretend that we think we do.